there. Leave Nayiit out of this."
"He's a grown man," Otah said. "He's not a child any longer. He has his
own mind and his own will. I thought about refusing him, for your sake
and for Liat's. But what would that be to him? He's not still wrapped in
crib cloths. How would I say that I wanted him safe because his mother
would worry for him?"
"And what about his father," Maati said, but it had none of the
inflection of a question. "You have an opinion, Most High, on what his
father would think."
Utah's belly sank. He dried his hand on his sleeve, only thinking
afterward that it was the motion of a commoner-a dockfront laborer or a
midwife's assistant or a courier. The Khai Machi should have raised an
arm, summoned a servant to dry his fingers for him on a cloth woven for
the purpose and burned after one use. His face felt mask-like and hard
as plaster. Ile took a pose that asked clarification.
"Is that the conversation we're having, then?" he asked. "We're talking
about fathers?"
"We're talking about sons," Maati said. "We're talking about you
scraping up all the disposable men that the utkhaiem can drag out of
comfort houses and slap sober enough to ride just so they can appease
the irrational whims of the Khai. Taking those men out into the field
because you think the armies of Galt are going to slaughter the Dal-kvo
is what we're talking about, and about taking Nayiit with you."
"You think I'm wrong?"
"I know you're right!" Maati was breathing hard now. His face was
flushed. "I know they're out there, with an army of veterans who are
perfectly accustomed to hollowing out their enemies' skulls for wine
bowls. And I know you sent Sinja-cha away with all the men we had who
were even half trained. If you come across the Galts, you will lose. And
if you take Nayiit, he'll die too. He's still a child. He's still
figuring out who he is and what he intends and what he means to do in
the world. And-"
"Maati. I know it would be safer for me to stay here. For Nayiit to stay
here. But it would only be safe for the moment. If we lose the Daikvo
and all he knows and the libraries he keeps, having one more safe winter
in Machi won't mean anything. And we might not even manage the winter."
hlaati looked away. Otah bowed his head and pretended not to have seen
the tears on his old friend's cheeks.
"I've only just found him again," Maati said, barely audible over the
splashing water. "I've only just found him again, and I don't want him
taken away."
"I'll keep him safe," Otah said.
Maati reached out his hand, and Otah let him lace his fingers with his
own. It wasn't an intimacy that they had often shared, and against his
will, Otah found something near to sorrow tightening his chest. He put
his free hand to Maati's shoulder. When Maati spoke, his voice was thick
and Otah no longer ignored his tears.
"We're his fathers, you and I," Maati said. "So we'll take care of him.
Won't we?"